


A trip to IKEA (Healing Ink AU)

by MirandasMadeOfStone



Series: Healing Ink AU [2]
Category: My Mad Fat Diary
Genre: F/M, Flirting, IKEA, Shopping, delayed gratification
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-30 04:47:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5150819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MirandasMadeOfStone/pseuds/MirandasMadeOfStone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is a little prompt “I never knew a trip to IKEA could end like that.” It’s written in the Healing Ink AU.</p><p>Thanks to my beta @how-ardently this has been raised from being a mere smut fest into something with more resonance. She really is the eighth wonder of the world.</p><p>Warnings:</p><p>Some resurfacing of old MH issues.</p><p>BIG FAT MASSIVE HUGMUNGOUS SMUT ALERT</p><p>You have been warned!</p>
    </blockquote>





	A trip to IKEA (Healing Ink AU)

**Author's Note:**

> This is a little prompt “I never knew a trip to IKEA could end like that.” It’s written in the Healing Ink AU.
> 
> Thanks to my beta @how-ardently this has been raised from being a mere smut fest into something with more resonance. She really is the eighth wonder of the world.
> 
> Warnings:
> 
> Some resurfacing of old MH issues.
> 
> BIG FAT MASSIVE HUGMUNGOUS SMUT ALERT
> 
> You have been warned!

The unfamiliar alarm peeps piercingly, intruding rudely on Rae’s deep, contented sleep. But there’s no opportunity for repeatedly pressing the snooze button today. She pushes the duvet, which has been a little too heavy for her liking, down over her torso to allow cool air to circulate over her.  Nudging the hot body curled around her, she is rewarded with a growl and a pair of strong arms pulling her closer.  
“It’s 9am already, sleepyhead. Time to wake up!” She attempts to sound chirpier than she feels.  
“Ummm.” He nuzzles into her neck and presses his pelvis forward into hers.   
“Come on. We don’t want to hit the peak queues do we? Wakey-wakey.”  
“Uhhhh.” His hands pull her even tighter. “Mae.” He grumbles in the slightly cajoling manner that she has learnt that he saves solely for her.  
“Alright. Five more minutes.”  
A wry smile crosses her lips, for this was what she expected. Her last minute train journey down to London the previous evening had been followed by a hastily eaten meal and dancing almost until dawn. Maybe an exhilarating and joyous ending to a long week, but possibly not the most auspicious start to a busy, and what needed to be, a very productive weekend.  
Finn had been attending Art College for the past three weeks, falling into a routine of travelling down to London by train at the crack of dawn on Wednesdays, and returning depressingly late on a Thursday. The first night of his absence had been far more of a harrowing wrench than she’d allowed herself to anticipate. She’d still been half asleep in bed when he kissed her goodbye for the third time, and set off on foot for the station. Thankful that her own course had kept her occupied during the day, she’d enjoyed a lasagne and DVD with Izzy and Chop in the evening. Reasoning that she would miss him less, were she to keep busy, she finally crossed the threshold of their new home at 11pm. That was when her carefully constructed façade of faux-cheeriness had crumbled with an almost alarming alacrity.  
One of his worn flannel shirts had been lying crumpled on the sofa, where he’d no doubt discarded it the day before. The treasured Hatful of Hollow LP cover had been sitting at a jaunty angle on the table next to a half-drunk cup of tea. The subdued exasperation at his untidiness had evaporated as soon as she heard his gruff tones over the telephone. Clutching the balled up shirt to her chest, she had barely prevented herself from crying. Yet it had been something of a pyrrhic victory; her tears would likely have induced him to make a mercy dash back to Stamford on the last train.   
This distressing recollection has her pushing back against his body as she starts to softly trace the patterns on his exposed forearm. Secure in his embrace, she finds her mind continuing its retrospective meandering. The night before Finn had left for London that very first time, he’d been rather too attentive; trailing in her wake around the house while she’d cooked, set off the laundry and hoovered a load of pencil shavings off the living room carpet. He’d even sat on the edge of the bath while she’d washed her hair. Peculiarly, he’d not resorted to begging to get in there with her.    
Nonetheless, he’d hardly left her side that night; somewhat resembling a small child unwilling to let go of mother’s apron strings. In these twilight moments, he would find his words, albeit achingly slowly. Yet hers would evaporate to wisps on her tongue. This vulnerable performance had been repeated on the eve of each of his departures, followed by lengthy tender and fervent love-making. Although his sleep had been fretful, she had found comfort in those borrowed nocturnal interludes.   
In the eerie silence of his absences, she had invariably been the one wishing to talk for hours when he had an assignment that he should have been writing. Were she to be critical, his telephone manner had always been lacking somewhat, but that coupled with the gruff yet quiet stutterings, made for unsatisfactory calls that only deepened the perceived chasm that yawned in front of them.  
Inhaling his familiar but sweaty musk, her pulse slows once more, and she stretches languidly, watching the chinks of light forcing their way through the slatted blinds of Lucy’s bedroom. That first night he’d been away, she’d slept with the curtains open, wishing to gaze upon the stars; thinking that he too would be sleeping under the same sky as her. The second week hadn’t brought anything different, although she has to admit that this week represented something of the lightest of improvements.  This time, he’d taken the car, as he had promised to pick up some equipment that Mike had bought for S&N’s. Coincidentally and highly unusually, he had mandatory seminars on both the Tuesday and Friday, necessitating a three night stay.  
Whilst the prospect of the prolonged separation had contributed to the plan, Rae would argue that it was domestic need that prompted it. The previous weekend, Finn had spent Saturday tattooing at S&N’s, arriving home tired and especially mardy. A watercolour project had been troubling him for days such that his endless prevarication had left him under significant time pressure. But try as he might, he could only stand and stare at the canvas on his easel, utterly devoid of inspiration.  He had tried reading books, working at S&N’s, sketching, and going for a walk. Even music had yielded but the merest whispers of an idea.  
Rae’s hand slides up Finn’s thigh, remembering how she’d decided that a soothing massage would be in order. Something that in itself may not provide inspiration, but could at least release some of the pent up tension and frustration inherent in his body. The knots on his shoulders had taken a remarkable amount of time to ease, so she’d upped the stakes with scented oil and discarding items of her clothing. By the time Finn had worked out what she was doing, she had been wearing very little, which only served to distract him completely. He’d flipped her over and begun to kiss her lasciviously with burning intent. Mere minutes had passed and they were lying in a tangled mess of limbs, heaving chests and utterly spent.  
She’s so caught up in her memory that Rae’s almost oblivious to Finn’s body moulding even more firmly to hers in his sleep. That evening, he’d switched Portishead up loud in the music room, then carried her through to their bed, deftly rolling her onto her stomach. His brushstrokes had caused her to float away into the misty Elysian fields of her mind. After an indefinite period, she had come round, to find him still nude, returning from the spare room with his cigarettes and lighter. Helping her to her feet, he’d led her over to the mirror where she had seen something of the glorious autumnal landscape that covered her back.   
Quelling his shaking hands, he’d photographed his work as she posed for him, aware that some of the pictures would remain strictly for his eyes. When she’d finally turned towards him, that look had been on his face, the one, which never failed to send tingles down her spine. Carefully, he’d approached her and tentatively tucked some hair behind her ear, eyes never leaving hers. The physical expression of his feelings had been languidly divine. They had drifted off where they lay. Waking as the milky dawn broke to an empty bed, Rae had found Finn covered in paint and halfway through another landscape, but on canvas.   
Rae’s eyes spring back open as remembers the state of their bed sheets. It seemed that watercolour paint would not come out of white bed linen, however many times she boil washed them. Bleaching them was something she considered but decided against on account of Finn’s sensitive skin. Up until that point, possessing only a single set of bed linen and towels was something of a mild irritation, meaning that wash day had to be timed well.  Perpetually having to sleep on muddy grey sheets was a concept that pushed her over the edge.  
Looking at the clock, Rae’s grateful that despite her inebriated state, she’d set the alarm clock half an hour earlier than actually required, anticipating Finn’s natural reluctance to get up. However, she’s the one who has been quietly revelling  in these precious few stolen moments, safe in his arms.  
“Finn.” She says softly. “It really is time to wake up.”  
His response is to place his slightly cracked lips on her neck, kissing down to her right shoulder blade and across to the left before returning up her neck. She squirms in delight against the muscular contours of his body.   
His hands are quick to wander under her Joy Division t-shirt to caress the soft, sensitive skin of her breasts. Succumbing momentarily to his skilled hands, a soft moan escapes her lips, which only serves for him to start grinding his pelvis into her bottom.  
Taking a couple of deep breaths, she calls upon her reserves of self-control. “Finn, much as I want to, we really don’t have time.”  
“Mae.” He murmurs longingly into her neck.  
She’s on the verge of capitulating and tossing her half-baked plan out of the window, when she catches sight of their clothes strewn all over the floor.  The growing confidence that seeded when they moved into their first home pushes through to the surface once more; there will be plenty of other times, she tells herself.  
“Not now. Maybe later.” Her tone is a little too firm as she tries to wriggle free.  
“No.” He moans, his hold a little firmer than before, his voice assuming a near pleading tone.  
But Rae remains undeterred, and pulls free, throwing the covers violently off the pair. Finn abruptly dives back under the covers, dragging a pillow over his head.   
“I’m going to make some tea.” She offers in a conciliatory tone, but he only groans in response.  
She pads out of the room to find Lucy smoking out of the open back door, having just put a pot of coffee on the stove.  
“Morning.”   
“Hey. You sleep well?”   
“Too well.” Rae yawns and rubs at her eyes. “Thanks so much for letting us use your room.”  
“Last night was fun.” Lucy grins. “Finn certainly likes his dancing.”   
The girls dissolve into giggles, remembering Finn’s rather over enthusiastic performance in the club.  
“I thought he was going to be a grumpy-pants all evening, after he’d been complaining how tired he was when I spoke to him on Thursday night.”  
Lucy takes a deep drag on her cigarette. “It’s only because he finds it hard to be away from you. What with it being three nights this week…” Lucy broke off to put her cigarette out. “I expect that by Christmas, you’ll both be relishing his night away so you can have control of the remote and listen to whatever you want.”  
“I suppose.” Rae bites her lip pensively. “What’s he been doing in the evenings here?”  
“Working on his art or watching footie on the TV with the boys.” Lucy pulls a face to which, Rae responds in kind.  
“Sounds like I’m not missing out on much then!”  
Lucy shook her head. “It’s so bloody full of testosterone sometimes that I wonder why on earth I’m living here. Mind you, Finn is generally a good house guest. He cleans out the bath after he’s used it and doesn’t leave stuff lying around unlike the others.”  
Rae’s eyes widen as a ball of frustration grows in her chest. “Seriously? Finn, tidy?”  
Lucy nods and a wry grin creeps across her face as Rae shakes her head in disbelief. “Quite often he’s the one doing the dishes in the morning, and I’ve even found him dusting.”  
“I don’t bloody believe it.”  Rae replies, watching Lucy pour out two cups of coffee.  
“He probably finds it easier to keep busy.” Lucy concedes, handing Rae her drink.  
Rae sips the scalding fluid carefully, considering the different Finn she knows at home. The man who could happily wander around half dressed for a full day, who left clothes strewn all over the house, who discarded wet towels on the bathroom floor, who frequently left his cereal bowl on the art room table. But she can’t help but smile, imagining him in his own domain; the room had almost instantaneously become his studio. It’s the one room where they agreed he could smoke out of the window and leave his things in as much disarray as he wished.    
As a result, Rae had found herself using one end of the table downstairs as her office. She supposes she could usurp the entire table, but Finn remained keen on them eating properly together at the table.  
As she adds a little more milk to the bitter drink, she silently admits to herself that he is a good cook, always trying to find foods that she actually enjoys eating. And he was surprisingly fastidious when it came to clearing up after himself in the kitchen. Fondly, she recalls how she’d opened the fridge the previous Friday to find a dish of the bread and pudding butter pudding that she adores, with a note attached.   
I’ll try to get home early tonight. We can have steak and salad and this for afters.  x  
He’d staggered in particularly late the previous evening,  completely bedraggled from his walk from the station to find her curled up on the sofa in her pyjamas, feeling distinctly sorry for herself. That Thursday had been a torrid day; the sort of day where nothing had gone right. She’d overslept on account of having not been able to fall asleep on her own, forgotten her sandwiches, her new brolly had blown inside out and to cap it all off, she’d lost her favourite pen. Despite his wet clothes and sunken eyes, Finn had listened patiently and then curled up with her in bed until she’d dropped off, worn out after her tirade.  
Rae’s still absorbed, musing that he must have stayed up and cooked for her, when he wanders barefoot into the living room looking exceedingly sleepy. His fringe has flopped in front of his eyes, yet the back of his hair is sticking out at odd angles, his shirt buttons are misaligned and one of the legs of his jogging bottoms is sitting half-mast. He ruffles a hand through the back of his hair trying to flatten it down. Yawning, he throws a hand up into the air and stretches languidly, inadvertently lifting his shirt and exposing his extensive and intricate abdominal artwork.  
Rae’s breath hitches in her throat and she wonders if he will always have this effect on her. Taking two steps forward to close the distance between them, she reaches forward and brushes his fringe aside. The dark circles beneath his eyes can simply be ascribed to a dearth of sleep; they are no longer deeply etched into his face as they had been for some months. Nonetheless, she seeks out the reassurance that she needs in his eyes.  
As he presses his lips to hers, she decides that he’s confused her concern for something else.  Yet she submits entirely and can’t suppress a moan as he traps her bottom lip between his. His hands grasp her hips and pull her forward. He manages to slip his tongue into her mouth before they are interrupted by an entirely over-the-top cough.  
“Soz Luce.” Finn apologizes in a crackly voice as he takes a step back.   
Blushing, Rae stares at her feet.  
“Fuck’s sake Nelson, you really need to get your fringe cut. Alternatively, I can lend you a hairband, if you’d prefer.”   
Finn’s soft laughter suffuses the room as he crosses to give his friend a hug.   
“Ta for the bed. You ok in the box room?”  
“Course. Bloody hell, you don’t look half bad for someone who was still dancing at 4am. I, however, feel rough as a dog’s arse.”  
“That’s because you carried on drinking, my dear.”  
Rae watches Finn pull Lucy in for a hug as she boils the kettle for his tea. She can just about make out his mumbled “You ok?” into Lucy’s hair as she ambles into the living room, allowing the two friends a little time in peace. She’s aware that the pair are, in some ways, remarkably similar; not just in the obvious shared creativity, but in the way they both struggle to articulate their emotions and need time to discover and express underlying issues.   
Rae suspects that something is out of kilter for Lucy but she’s not able to narrow it down, let alone pinpoint any locus. Flicking through one of the design magazines on the table, she hopes that, if anything, Finn’s weekly visits may bring some stability and continuity for Lucy; someone to talk to other than her girlfriend, or aunt. However irrational she believes it to be, she can’t help the tiny slither of jealously within. Yet she recognises that having Finn all to herself was never a realistic possibility; he has so many friends and commitments. Releasing a pent-up sigh, she chastises herself for this transient burst of selfishness and reasons that her monthly cycle is once more playing games with her sensitivity. That, coupled with three nights’ absence from him this week, is making her crave Finn’s attention and time more intensely than usual.  
“Rae, shall I make some more coffee?” Lucy calls out.  
Rae glances up to see the backdoor open and gathers that Finn must be smoking in the back-yard. Feeling guilty for her greediness over Finn’s time, she replies.  
“Why don’t you have a smoke with Finn? I’ll sort it.”   
It’s not long before she has prepared the three drinks the way everyone likes them: Finn’s milky tea with two sugars, Lucy’s black coffee with three sugars and her plain coffee with milk. Passing Lucy her cup, she catches sight of her watch and a fresh determination rouses within her.   
“Finn, yours is on the side. I’m going to have a quick shower.”  
“No waitress service for me?” He grumbles, walking back in.  
She’s halfway to the bathroom when she years him cry in disgust- “Uh-god”, and turns just in time to catch the contorted grimace on Finn’s face.  
“The fuck do you drink this… this shit?” He announces, waving her cup of coffee around.  
Rae’s not sure whether she or Lucy breaks into the first peal of laughter.  
“Did you not look in the mug first? It’s pretty bloody obvious which is the tea and which the coffee.” There’s a hint of challenge in her tone.  
“I… fuck’s sake.” He grumbles and switches mugs.   
“Finn, we need to leave in 15 minutes, so can you get yourself sorted?”  
“Do we have to go?” His voice is near a whine.  
“Well, that’s why I came down from Lincoln last night, you numpty.”  
“Uhhhh. Couldn’t we go next weekend?”   
“Finn.” Her tone is firm and assertive. It’s statement enough to close down the conversation. As she wanders into the bathroom, she sees Finn slumping on the sofa and hunching over his drink.  
The hot jets of water energise Rae and she’s quickly washed and just finishing off her hair when the bathroom door opens. She questions the wisdom of her plan when Finn clumsily stumbles out of his jogging bottoms and fights to remove his shirt. Part of her is irked that he hasn’t just gone and got dressed given the time, but she’s aware that she’s being both impatient and unreasonable expecting him to go without a shower. She makes to step out of the cubicle, when he enters and then shepherds her back in.  
His arms are instantly around her waist, a hand seeking out her bottom and his very evident erection into her stomach. His kissing and nibbling at her collarbone cause her to have a momentary lapse of reason and she nearly succumbs to his desire.   
“You have to stop, Finn.” Her tone has lost all its previous authority.  
But he carries on trailing kisses down onto her chest, one hand running down the outer and then up her inner thigh.  
“Finn.” Her voice is no more than a squeak as his fingers slide between her legs.  
Somehow logic crashes in as she glimpses the towel she brought on the bathroom floor. It’s the single towel she processes, one of pair Finn had bought when he kitted out their new home. It might not have been quite so bad, had it been a bath sheet, but Finn had bought the more economical bath towels, in white of all bloody colours.  
“There isn’t time.” She gently presses him away from her.  
“But Mae…”  
“There’ll be time later.” She whispers softly. “It’ll be so much better in our own bed… we can take our time and I can give you that massage you like.”  
Defeated, Finn releases an exasperated groan through clenched teeth.

Despite Rae offering to drive, Finn is at the wheel, squinting as he blows smoke out of the window while they sit in a small queue of traffic. Rae’s fingers tap impatiently on the door, offbeat to the music playing. Both Chloe and Lucy had warned her about the Saturday crowds in Ikea and she was keen to beat them and keep the shopping experience as bearable as possible. Smoothing out the slightly crumpled piece of paper on her lap, she surveys the list and considers, for the umpteenth time, whether there is anything else that they need.  
She tried to keep the list as short and focussed as possible. Partly, because she predicted Finn’s antipathy towards using a rare Saturday off for shopping, and also because they had to be careful with money. What with Finn working reduced hours at S&N’s and her only picking up a couple of shifts at the hotel, they needed to keep their belts tight. There’s no guarantee that she will find a suitable job in the New Year after her course completes and Finn’s work load and resultant pay was variable. Finn needed time off too; time for football, going out with his mates and just for doing nothing. Their visits to Kester are now being carefully scheduled. Although they may only last an hour or two, each represents an unpaid day where nothing productive can be achieved.  
Staring blankly at the traffic, she calculates that they have only managed one in the past month; each having a half hour solo session followed by a short joint session. It may not have been ideal, but they both agreed on the compromise beforehand. A lazy smile grows on Rae’s lips as Finn turns up The Stone Roses on the stereo and she recalls how he had tried to make their trip to Stamford a day out. They had spent a couple of hours browsing through a record store and a book shop respectively in the morning, followed by a quiet lunch in the pub. Visiting a teashop had been planned for the afternoon, but neither had actually felt like eating after the sessions. A deflated and lacklustre Finn had driven them home in silence. Yet, an hour spent on the sofa listening to Ella Fitzgerald, while he drew and she scribbled, had significantly restored their ailing spirits.  
Her face softens in acknowledgement that their home reflects a sanctuary for them both. A place of security and calm, a place to let their guards down, to laugh, cry, love and be themselves. A sense of pride swells in Rae’s chest when she realises that she’s doing something she never believed she would do, something very grown-up: prioritising their home and all that it represents above music, books, friends or partying. A self-derisive snort escapes her lips as she considers her own thoughts a little pretentious, a little too serious. But deep down, the conviction remains.  
“You laughing at me driving, Mae?”   
“Uh…” Rae jerks her head towards Finn. “Just thinking.”  
“Oh right. Think we must nearly be there. You got the map?”  
Rae casts around on the floor for the brochure that Chloe had given her, which had been the initial inspiration for the trip. By the time she pulls it onto her lap, she spies the monstrous building to their right.  
“Look, Finn. There it is!” Her voice brims with enthusiasm.  
“That place? It’s… it looks like a warehouse?”  
“Yeah.” She breathes, gripping the brochure tightly.  
As they pull into the car park, Rae spots the ever growing crowd outside the entrance, waiting for the doors to open.  
“I thought you said it would be quiet if we got here early.” Finn’s tone indicates how unimpressed he is.  
“Apparently the whole place is rammed on a Saturday afternoon.”  
“Jesus.”  
Expecting a ’do we have to?’ Rae lingers in her seat, but Finn opens his door with a resigned sigh and starts fumbling for his cigarettes. This spurs Rae into action and she shoots around the car and grabs them off him. “There isn’t time. Doors open any minute now.”  
The lengthy groan that escapes Finn’s lips is only curtailed when Rae takes his hand in hers and starts ducking and diving through the milling bodies to put them in a prime position. When the bodies finally surge forwards, she feels a dead weight in her hand and swivels to see Finn staring at his boots. Tugging firmly at his hand, she’s relieved when he finally looks up and reluctantly follows her in.  
Two sets of escalators later, she grasps two giant yellow bags, earning a quizzical look from Finn. With a resolute stride, she marches into the first part of the store- the kitchen department. Finn’s hand is soon forgotten as her eyes alight on the vast array of pots and pans. They come in a multitude of designs, sizes and colours. She picks one or two up from the budget range, then moves onto the next bracket up, and the one after. She’s back at the first range again, considering the prices when something else catches her eye: a slow cooker. Her mind instantly fills with visions of coming home from work to a tasty, already cooked meal and a longer evening spent listening to music with Finn.  
“Look Finn.” She cradles the cooker and carries it over to Finn who’s staring absentmindedly into the distance. “Finn!” She cries proffering the cooker towards him.  
“Wha?” His brow furrows.  
“It’s a slow cooker. They’re just brilliant for stews and cooking and stuff. You put the food on in the morning and come home to a cooked supper.”  
The furrows deepen and his eyes crease up, almost in disbelief.  
“I… uh… it’s umm quite large. Take up a lot of room in the cupboard.”  
“But it’s so useful. We could have casserole for tea and…”  
“Rae, do’you actually like casserole?”  
“Yeah course. Everyone likes a hotpot.”  
“If you really want it.” He sighs, grouchiness still evident in his tone. “What’s wrong with it?”   
He shrugs, looking unconvinced.  
“Come on, Finn. What is it?”  
“Apart from the fact it’s so fucking middle-aged, you realise you’re going to have cut up and prepare the meat and veg before work? That would mean you getting up twenty minutes or half an hour earlier, and given your track record…” He trails off.  
“You cheeky bugger.” Rae exclaims, putting the pot back. “Maybe another day.”  
It’s mere seconds later when she’s examining a range of ceramic casserole dishes, taking their lids off and on and assessing their size and varying shape; round, oval or square?  
“Now one of these would be great for all sorts of things. Entertainin’ and the like. And they’re less bulky and far cheaper than the plug in one. What do you think?”  
Finn shrugs again.   
“We’ve only got one decent dish with a lid and it’s tiny.” She implores.  
“Okay.” He huffs, grabbing a medium size circular white one.  
“No… no.” She takes it back off him. “Not white. I think the blue ones are far prettier.” She pauses. “And I much prefer the oval shape ones. So much more… elegant.”  
The heavy blue pot is the first item in their bag; shortly to be joined by a whisk, some cookie cutters, an apple corer and two spatulas. It takes her a further fifteen minutes to select the cake moulds she prefers. When it comes to crockery, Rae’s mind automatically conjures up visions dinner parties with Chop, Izzy, Mike, Chlo, Archie and Jim, all sitting down to a meal around their big table with matching place settings. She pushes the fact that they only possess four chairs to the back of her mind.  
Having reviewed the prices for the boxed dinner sets, their current motley collection of mismatched plates and bowls, all in varying sizes and colours, no longer seems adequate. Firstly, she eyes up a plain, somewhat utilitarian, set that match the pale blue casserole dish perfectly. But a pretty set fashioned from a finer porcelain, covered in pale green leaves, calls to her. She’s still prevaricating the dilemma of form over substance when Finn’s grouchy voice breaks her concentration.  
“I thought we came here for towels and bedlinen and tha’.”  
She bites her lip. “Yeah, but now we’re here.” His lengthy sigh gives her an idea; perhaps if he were more involved he would be a little less bored.  
“So blue, or the cute patterned ones?”  
He opens his mouth with a pained expression but no words leave his lips.  
“Come on, you’ve got to have an opinion. You’ve a better eye for these things than me.”  
He shuffles from one foot to another, running a hand through the back of his hair. “I err….I think white’s better. You know, easier to match if you break something.”  
Rae raises an eyebrow in question, a little disappointed at Finn’s bland and leaden reaction. Looking back at the dishes in hand, her enthusiasm wanes a little and she puts them back.  
“Shall we go and look at the sheets then?”  
He grunts in reply.

Having deliberated over choosing three cushions for a further fifteen minutes and selecting a plain dark grey set of bedlinens, the pair finally find themselves in amongst a sea of brightly coloured towels. Rae is equally drawn by the deep aubergine and a rather racy bright lime. Repeatedly, she holds them up to the light and tries to assess which she ultimately prefers.  
Finn paces around, looking lost and confused. “Rae.”   
His voice may be gruff and tetchy, but Rae’s head immediately rises at this unusual reversion to her name.  
“I’m not sure. I think we might become quickly bored of the lime. But they are so cool.” She coos.  
Finn’s head drops into his hands and he rubs his eyes. When he looks back up, she’s still staring at him expectantly.  
“What’s wrong with the white ones we’ve already got?” His tone slips into vexation.  
“Well Finley. Firstly, in your infinite wisdom, you decided to buy small towels, when you could have chosen something more luxurious and providing full coverage, like these babies.” She unfurls one the giant towels and wraps it around her body in demonstration.  
“Secondly, they, like our current bed sheets, are white.” Her statement sounds out more vitriolic and sarcastic than intended.  
A flash of barely disguised annoyance mars Finn’s face.  
“Well, Rae. Perhaps I prefer seeing a little more of you and a little less towel. And secondly, what the fucking fuck is wrong with white?”  
“If you hadn’t noticed, our bedlinen was trashed when you decided to paint me on the bed. Despite you claiming that watercolours would wash out, they bloody don’t. Meaning we are left with greying sheets and towels that look like a…Like something you would buy from a charity shop for your dog to sleep on! Besides, I really like colour.”  
A low noise suffused with irritation and frustration is loudly emitted from Finn’s lips, such that other people turn and stare at the couple.  
“You know full well tha’ I’m no bloody good with colour.” He gripes in a tone that betrays something deeper, something innately personal.  
Rae’s only too aware that she needs to diffuse the situation, for Finn’s sake as well as any innocent bystanders, who include rather a large number of noisy and whiney children.  
“Finn.” She places a hand on his forearm. “Shall we go and discuss this over a cup of tea?”  
His face contorts once more. “You… you can get tea here?” His expression gradually softens into a small smile.  
She nods, grinning, and holds out her hand for him, which he accepts.

The sunlight streams in through the enormous functional and unpretentious windows onto the table where the couple sit drinking their tea. Finn is slowly working his way through a full English breakfast complete with tomatoes and mushrooms, while Rae’s breakfasts consists of two pieces of toast with butter and jam.  
As soon as they reached the cafeteria, Rae persuaded Finn to have some food, aware that hunger only exacerbated Finn’s cantankerousness. Barely a couple of minutes into their meal, she noticed his shoulders drop and his legs stretch out. She loves the way he enjoys his food and eats with relish, something that’s beginning to rub off on her.   
“Fancy another cuppa?”  
He nods, trying to smile but his mouth is full.  
“I’m going to get some fruit salad too. Do you want anything else to eat?”  
“Nah. This is good though.”  
When she returns with the newly laden tray, Finn has finished his food and is sitting back, rolling up his shirtsleeves. Instead of resuming in the seat opposite Finn, Rae sits down to his left. She can’t help but run a hand up over his left wrist onto the heavily inked skin where her fingers spread out and then close. He says nothing but quirks an eyebrow.  
The fruit is bursting with juice and so sweet. Because she feels Finn is missing out, Rae spears a piece of pineapple onto her fork and holds it out towards him. His expression may be quizzical, but he opens his mouth nonetheless. Rae moves closer to him, such that their thighs are pressed firmly against each other and continues feeding him. Once the bowl is empty, her hand slides under the table to rest on his upper thigh, causing him to startle a little at the unexpected, and possibly public, touch.  
“I was thinking.” She begins with a wicked glint in her eye. “We could really do with at least one bedside cabinet.”  
Undeterred by Finn’s eye roll, she continues. “You see, it would be far easier if we could keep certain things closer to the bed, rather than dumping them on the floor, or having to cross the room every time we need to get them.” Her thumb strokes the denim firmly.  
“How urgently do ya need your books in the middle of the night?”  
A hint of a laugh escapes Rae’s mouth as she moves closer and whispers in his ear. “I wasn’t talking about books.”  
The slight rosy blush that tinges his skin as her breath tickles his cheek grows deeper as she utters, “Johnnies and the like.”  
Finn makes a half-strangled choking noise and quickly sets his tea-cup back on the table. Pushes his chair back from the table. His hand reaches out and strokes her cheek.  
“Very cute, Mae. Did ya really think you could get one over me like this?” He bops her on the nose.   
“Dickhead.” She responds, scrunching her nose at him, watching helplessly as he rolls a sleeve up to the upper part of his bicep, exposing even more of his glorious artwork.  
He seems to take an age with the second sleeve, then slowly gets to his feet, extending a hand toward her, a smirk firmly on his face. “Let’s go and do battle with the palate of towels first. Always useful to have spares in case of paint based incidents.”

The banter continues through finalising their towel selection, with Rae pretending to model the towels over her clothes and dancing around Finn and stealing the odd kiss, whilst trying not to be too obvious.  
Finn follows her through to the showroom section where Rae tells him the bedside cabinets will be. Dismissing the first two with the briefest of glances for being too dark, she makes for a mock bedroom set in a tucked away corner. First she sits on the bed, then bounces a couple of times with a serious expression on her face, then lies down, again pretending to test it out.  
Finn’s face is a picture as Rae poses on the bed for his benefit.  
“Rae.” He hisses. “Rae!”  
Innocently she smiles at him. “Got a mattress topper on this one. It’s ever so soft and comfortable.”  
“I thought we were supposed to be looking at bedside cabinets?”  
“Yeah… Look, there’s one just here.” She pats the white cabinet next to the bed and slowly gets to her feet to examine it in more detail; opening and shutting its door a couple of times, deliberately bending low and shimmying her hips towards her boyfriend.  
He clears his gravelly throat. “That one ok?”   
Bending low again, she opens the door but then nearly jumps in shock. For Finn is directly behind her, sliding his hand up her inner thigh.  
“Err…” Glimpsing the growing smirk on his face, she flits past him and all but skips around the bed, ostensibly to review a differently configured cabinet on the right side. This time, she blatantly bends over and rolls her hips before opening each one of the drawers in turn.  
This time Finn’s hand doesn’t stop on her inner thigh, his finger caressing the fabric between her legs, eliciting a none too subtle moan.  He shushes her, his fingers continuing their dance until she whips around, blushing.  
“I think this is the one.”  
He raises his eyebrows.  
“Three drawers. I can put books in the bottom one, music in the middle one.” She pauses and a runs her tongue between her lips. “And the top one would be reserved for the French letters.”  
“Eh?” His brow furrows briefly as something flits across his face. “We’d need ta… I mean, you could fit years and years’ worth in there.”  
Rae takes a small step forward and runs her finger down his cheek, onto his neck and finally lets it settle mid chest. All the time maintaining steady eye contact with her boyfriend. Then she leans right in to whisper in his ear. “I think we could buy some other things to keep the johnnies company.”  
“You… you what?” He stutters.  
“Oh, I think you know what I’m talking about, Finley.” Her lips brush his ear before settling on the sensitive spot on his neck, where they linger for a few seconds.  
Rae returns to examine the cabinet, noting Finn’s darkened eyes and parted lips. She deliberately makes a bee line for the top drawer, her stance intentionally provocative.  
“Uh… err… that one seems like a good idea.” He stutters.  
She faces to find him pulling his shirt over his head, then tying it round his waist.  
“I’m, err… It’s a bit hot in here.” His face and neck may be flushed, but Finn’s shivering lightly.  
On their way towards the furniture aisles, Rae observes the looks they garner. Finn walks the majority of the way behind her, eyes lowered to the floor, while she makes continual small detours, entranced by brightly coloured picture frames, plants and candles.  Children staring at Finn’s heavily inked arms is something she expected, but it’s the other couples that perturb her. One ushers their children away, diverting their attention, and another seem to switch departments whenever they approach. On the third occasion, Rae sees a woman pull on her partner’s sleeve and whisper something in his ear.  
Even though she’s not sure that Finn has even noticed, she takes his hand in her own and kisses him full on the lips, leaving him motionless, with a bewildered expression on his face. When he finally comes back to life, he slings and arm around her waist but remains mute.  
The furniture aisles are surprisingly quiet and Rae welcomes this interlude from the busy store. As they wander further from the masses, she deliberately pulls him down the wrong turning.  
“Erm… Rae…” He begins, but gets no further as her lips meet his in a charged kiss. She can sense he’s a little nervous, reluctant possibly, but eventually he responds, pushing his body against hers.  
When they finally separate, he seems to find some slightly choked words.   
“Did ya just come down here because it’s quiet?”  
She nods impishly, watching his eyes grow a little wider. He rocks back and forth on his feet a couple of times, chewing the inside of his cheek, then takes a step forward, reaching out and trailing his fingers down her cheek. He presses his lips softly to the corner of her mouth and then nips at her lower lip.   
“So, this is how it is?” He breathes a little heavily against her lips, before beginning a succession of feather light kisses.   
His tongue is soon tracing the length of her lips, before he moves to kiss down her neck and back up.   
A noise, one Rae can only describe as a disgusted cough, interrupts them.  
“Oh shit! It’s our friends.”   
Finn’s face crumples. He quirks an eyebrow, but says nothing. They both hear the derisive snort and something about “people like him” as the couple clomp past with their trolley.  
Suddenly Rae’s lips press a single kiss against his. “Have I told you today that I love you?”  
His nose wrinkles.  “You have now, dickhead.”  
“No, I really love you Finn Nelson.” She intertwines their fingers.   
His frown is quickly replaced by a smile that lightens up his tired features. “That’s a good thing because I love you.” He kisses her sloppily on the cheek.  
“Do you know what? We’re in the wrong aisle. It was 54, not 34 that we needed.” She enunciates her words a little too loudly and clearly for them simply to be for Finn’s benefit.  
He trails behind her on their way to retrieve the cabinet and is more than a little relieved to find themselves on the farthest isle, which is deserted. Rae’s seeking out the correct location for their little flat pack, when Finn grasps her hips from behind and pulls her flat against him.  
“You, Miss Earl.” He begins in the lowest of whispers, snaking a hand up to test the weight of her bust. “Have been quite naughty today.” His lips seek out the back of her neck and shoulders. His fingers tease the hardening nub under her shirt, provoking a noise which causes tingles to erupt throughout his body.  
She grinds herself against him, revelling in what she has aroused, as a stuttered “fuck” escapes his lips. He’s biting at her skin now, pressing his pelvis firmly against her bottom. As soon as their lips meet again, all sense of location and appropriateness has long vanished and their surroundings fade away until all that they know is each other.  
It’s only bickering coming from the next aisle that finally shatters this mirage of peace and Finn stumbles back from his girl, mouth still open, eyes ablaze.   
Rae smoothes her top down and runs a hand through her hair. Looking around, she takes some deep, restorative breaths. A small chuckle emanates from her lips as she realises that, not only are they standing in a busy store, there are also bound to be cameras about.   
Finn’s untucking his white t-shirt and rearranging his checked shirt around his waist. He stoops down and picks up the large cardboard container with ease. Rae swallows in delight as his exquisitely tattooed biceps flex.   
They walk to the tills in silence and join one of the lengthy queues. It seems that the people at the head of said queue have filled two bags with hundreds of small items, which are inevitably taking an age to scan. Behind them are a couple with what appears to be a modest looking bag, then a middle-aged woman with wacky red glasses, who appears to be buying enough candles to light a Cathedral. Directly in front of them stands a young family with two restless children, one complaining that he needs a drink and the second intent on provoking a reaction from the first in any way possible.  
“You going to put that down?”   
“Nah, won’t be that long.” Finn’s shoulders do their best attempt at a shrug given the size and weight of the box in his arms.  
They’ve been waiting for at least ten minutes. One of the children in front is having a full scale screaming tantrum on the floor. Shifting from foot to foot, Finn keeps his focus on his boots, trying to ignore all Rae’s little touches and whispered comments. But eventually, he has to concede and place the box on the lino floor. Rae’s only too quick to take its weight and balance it against her knees. She’s just adjusting to the change in position, when she panics slightly, unable to see Finn. Looking to the left and right, her chest constricts a little. She’s about to walk off in search of him, when she senses the calming weight of his palm on her shoulder.  
“Mae. You ok?”   
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Her tone is a little defensive. “What you doing standing directly behind me?”  
“I… uh… it’s… uhhh complicated.”   
Rae furrows her brow for a moment, before Finn’s predicament dawns on her and she can’t help but giggle a little. “You mean… still?”  
She hears the clomp of his boots as he moves. “’Snot funny.” He sounds distinctly sulky now.  
Rae manages to pay with Finn hovering behind her, a hand on her arm. They make it down to the carpark, where Finn loads up the car. Rae can’t resist running a hand from his nape to waist as he shuffles the bags around in the boot, earning her a crabby noise from Finn, who somewhat belligerently pushes the car keys at her.  
“You’re driving, Rae.”  
She pouts at him. But it’s to no avail, as he walks round to the passenger side and throws himself belligerently into the seat.   
Finn’s a surprisingly efficient navigator and has them back on the A1 heading north by the time the CD reaches “Don’t Look Back in Anger.” Rae’s content to find Finn leaning back, feet on the dashboard, smoking with relish out of the window. Her sidelong glances cannot last long out of necessity, but she catches the way he seems to lick his lips before inserting the white tip between them and the way he pouts, having blown a smooth train of smoke out.  
When he finishes, Rae hears him shuffling about and fidgeting in his seat. She accidently dabs at the brakes when she catches him tracing the shapes of his exposed abdominal artwork with apparent intense concentration. “Cast No Shadow” has come and finished and his fingers are still on his own skin. Rae shifts in her seat, feeling the ache between her legs. She tells herself she can play this game, that he won’t get under her skin but when his fingers slip under the waistband of his jeans, something in her lets go. She seeks the first available stopping place and pulls over.  
It’s a seemingly quiet turning off the main road, with a sign to a trucker’s café. The car comes to a halt in the gateway to a field. Her breath is coming a little faster and she’s not able to fathom whether she’s actually a little cross, or turned on, or both. Handbrake firmly on, she removes the keys from the ignition and turns to face the source of her torment. He’s biting his lip quite provocatively at her and reaches forward to run a finger between her lips. Astounding herself, Rae all but throws herself at him, kissing him with a powerful, all consuming zeal.  
His response is to pull back slightly and then growl. “Get in the back seat, now.”  
Rae’s thighs clench together in response and she complies far more rapidly and without her inimitable back-chat, which would usually surface when faced with a barked order. Finn almost dives between the front seats and his body is soon heavy upon hers, a hand lifting up her leg as he kisses her deeply, his tongue effortlessly flicking over the seam of her mouth.  She’s writhing beneath him, soft noises escaping her throat spurring him on, when the car rocks from side to side.  
“Jesus.” She pales a little.  
“Nah it were an HGV, Mae.” His face creases in laughter.  
“You utter… god, you really are a prick sometimes.” Her expression hardens a little.  
“You know something.” His grin is puckish. “You’re really cute when you’re cross.” He bops her on the nose with his finger.  
“You…you…” Another lorry rumbles past. “Fancy a cup of tea? Café’s got to be good with this much trade.”  
His brows knit and his mouth falls open as she pushes him back and climbs inelegantly back through to the front seat.   
“But…”  
“Neither comfortable, nor romantic Finley.” With that, she settles herself back in the driver’s seat. He lies across the backseat in confusion as she drives the short distance to the café. As she stops and opens her door, his mouth drops open.  
“You… you’re serious?”  
“I take it you want takeaway?”   
He groans in pure frustration, crashing back down against the back seat, a hand falling over his eyes. It takes all the time Rae is inside (picking up two teas and a single Chelsea bun), and two cigarettes for some of the tension inherent in his body to seep away. Despite Rae’s protestations, he insists on being the one at the wheel, making off as Rae hands him a torn of piece of iced bun.  
“I can see why the truckers like it there.” He licks his lips after finishing his mouthful.  
Rae puts another piece into his mouth, withdrawing her fingers ever so slowly. It’s only after his third mouthful that he notices.  
“You not having any?”   
“Not hungry.” Her response is a little too quick.  
The corners of his mouth drop and he stares out of the window. As her fingers proffer another piece towards his mouth, he shakes his head.  
“You love these, Finn.” She says, her statement more of a question.  
“And so do you.” He chews the inside of his mouth, wishing he could recall the words. Aware, that now is probably not the time and certainly not the most opportune place to raise what had been niggling him in recent days.  
She presses a button, fiddles with a CD case, and The Verve are soon playing in the car.   
“Rae.”   
She turns the music up and starts tapping a beat against her thigh, resolutely staring out at the passing landscape.   
Finn pulls his cigarettes from his shirt pocket, the preoccupied cogs of his mind whirring as he smokes mechanically out of the open window. He turns the music down when he’s shut the window.  
“I love you, Mae.” He begins, aware of the importance of the words he chooses. “You know I think you are the most incredible person. You’re strong, you’re bright, you’re funny, and you have more than passable taste in music and you’re beautiful. No, just simply beautiful. You’re fucking stunning. And I fancy the arse off you.”  
Out of the corner of his eye, he catches the way her hands are playing with each other in her lap. She’s still looking out of the window.  
“Your body. It… it uh… does things to me. I love every last part of it.” It’s not enough, nowhere near enough, and despite the fact they’re in a car on the A1, there are more words he has to source and formulate into a semblance of coherence.  
“You know you have these dimples on your arse and a pretty cool pattern of moles on your back. Your second toe on your right foot is longer than your right big toe, but not on your left foot. Behind you left ear is small pink birthmark and the little finger on your left hand is a bit crooked.”  
“I caught it in a car door when I was 10.”  
He wants to ask more, to find out this part of her story. But now’s not the time, so he presses on.  
“I know it’s cheesy, but the first thing I really noticed was your eyes. They’re just so… so expressive. I just get lost in them sometimes. You have a smile that lights up the darkest of my days, and the cutest of button noses. “His own nose rumples at the thought.  
“I love the way your arms feel around me. They make me feel wanted, safe and at peace. Sometimes, all at the same time.”  
She’s one to turn the music off.  
“I love the curve of your hips and your stomach. They’re so womanly.” Her snort tells him that although she might be softening, he’s not quite on the right track.  
“The way your hair falls down your back, it’s lovely. The contrast between your dark hair and your pale skin bewitches me. I don’t want you to think I’ve been perving on you, but I like to draw you when you’re asleep.”  
He glimpses the first flicker of a smile.   
“I remember the first time I inked you. I couldn’t help but notice your long legs. I know it was probably inappropriate to touch them without my gloves, but I loved how soft your skin is.  And, the second time I inked you, it was so fucking hard to keep my eyes where they should have been. Your chest is quite something else.” His breath hitched in the throat, causing the last word to come out in a different pitch. “Inking you, it’s always been my pleasure.”  
“There’s something in the way you move, the way your wiggle your bottom and jiggle your chest at me. Don’t deny that you don’t do it on purpose sometimes.”  
A muted giggle escapes her lips.  
“But best of all I love the way our bodies fit together. I like feeling your body pressed firmly into mine. It’s such an incredible feeling that I kind of forget about anything else. No matter where we are, it’s just you and me that exist in that moment.”  
His top teeth sink into his bottom lip because he’s happily talked himself too far down the path, without even touching on what he intended.  
“It… uh…” He wriggles in his seat and frowns, releasing a pent up breath of air “pfft.”   
It’s almost painful to watch, so Rae tears off a piece of bun and puts it in her mouth, noticing the way Finn’s tongue is poking inside his cheek. But he’s not smiling.  
“Was that for my benefit? I thought that you weren’t hungry.”  
He winces at his own bluntness and clumsy words as she turns away from him.  
“Sorry, girl. That came out a bit wrong. I…I just can’t help but worry about you. I thought…well I kind of noticed you haven’t been eating as much recently and…” He runs a hand through his hair, pushing his unruly fringe back.  
“I suppose if you’re not hungry, you’re not hungry. But if you want to eat something then…”  
“Is that why you were saying all those nice things, Finn? Because that’s…”  
“Yeah Rae. I just made up a whole lot lotta shit just so…” He slams his hand down on the steering wheel.  
His indignation is almost instantly replaced by a tumult of competing emotions. He’s angry with himself, slightly ashamed and sorry for his harshly spoken words. But he can’t shake the festering feeling that’s rising in his belly.  
“I… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so… to speak so…” His words are consumed by the way he has to sniff back the tears that threaten to fall.   
“Christ. I couldn’t have fucked that up any more if I tried.” His sigh is choked with the words that bind his throat.   
Casting around, he stabs at the CD player until music fills the car once more. He’s so entangled in the fear that the miles are passing too quickly for him to undo the words he cannot take back, such that the change to Radiohead takes him a while to process.  
As he casts a glance to his left, he finds her gazing at him, eyes a little reddened, but there’s more than a hint of a reconciliatory smile on her lips.  
Somehow this imbues him with a courage that warms his veins and disperses the creeping numbness that their separation and resultant lack of communication has brought.   
“I find it really tough when we’re apart, Mae. I can’t help but worry about ya, maybe more than I should. But since I’ve been going down to London, it seems to me that you haven’t been… you’ve been a bit fussier about your food. I dunno. And this week, I didn’t know whether you’d actually eat any tea for… three nights.” He coughs unwittingly.   
“Fuckin’ smokes. Probably should cut down.” His tenor’s flat.  
“I know we talked about it and understood that college meant nights apart, but I’ve fucking hated each and every one of them. The days are bad enough. It’s alright if I’m busy, like in lectures or using the library or painting or something. But then there are these small moments when it hits me so hard. Like the other day, I saw this great illuminated book. It was really old. And I was so excited thinking how much you’d like it and then I remembered. It was that night you were having a girly thing with Chlo and Izz and I wasn’t sure I was even going to be able to talk to ya.” He swallows but his eyes remain on the road.  
“But the days are nothing compared to the nights. I… I haven’t exactly been sleeping that well. Sometimes my mind won’t shut down. I’ve tried all sorts; even dusting Lucy’s in the middle of the night, but…” He shrugs but then continues unabated. “Your wellbeing and safety mean everything to me, Mae, and after… you see, I can’t help but…”  
He stops, feeling the gentle heat of her hand on his goose-bump flocked arm.  
“You can always call me.” Her is voice suffused with concern.  
“Not at 3am.”   
“Even at 3am, you dickhead.”  
Rae sucks on her lip pensively, thankful for the temporary incarceration of the car, for it has forced her to listen when running could have been a distinct possibility. Despite her blossoming confidence, there were always going to be knock-backs and bad days. The techniques she had garnered through bitter experience and from Kester somehow didn’t always surface quickly enough when called.  
“I miss you so much it hurts. I keep telling myself it’s going to get easier, at least maybe… It’s hard, but college is fucking important, Finn. And seeing your work develop is… you’re amazing.” She grins but the corners of her mouth quickly fall as she catches sight of the paper bag on her lap.  
He waits patiently as she fiddles with her hair.  
“I lost my appetite a bit when you first started college.” She stares at the patterns the newly falling drizzle form on the windscreen. “But then it… it became a bit more than that. I’ve been on a diet.” She nibbles at a nail.  
“You see, it’s just that London’s so full of all these beautiful girls and models and that. It’s not that I think you’d run off with one of them or anything.” Her voice waivers.  
“But then I kind of got to thinking that perhaps you might like me even more if I was a bit thinner, more mainstream, looked more like one of those art college types, like we made a more normal couple.” Each of her suggestions is followed by a grimace and something of an uncomfortable gesture.  
“You wha’? You…You think… Fucking hell. “  
“I’m so sorry, Finn. Deep down I know all those things you said are true. But you must have seen the looks people give us when we’re together.”  
A flash of ill-concealed fury mars his face before he can speak again.  
“I’ve been getting those kind of looks for as long as I can remember. You might like my tattoos, but I can tell ya that a lot of people really don’t. People cross the street when they see me approach, they avoid eye-contact and god forbid if they have to talk to me.  And maybe people do stare at us; a beautiful tall woman with a short, heavily inked bloke. Nobody likes it when that sort of thing happens but that’s not what this is really about.” He grits his teeth and releases a shuddery breath.  
“Mae, would you love me if I didn’t have any tattoos?”   
Rae’s expression crumples into utter disbelief. “You can’t ask that… it’s… it’s a stupid question.”  
“Answer me.” He grumbles.  
“You bloody know I would. I love you because you’re you. Because you’re such an incredible person; you make me smile, I love spending time with you, you have near perfect taste in music, you’re stupidly talented, kind, calm, and caring… and you just get me. It’s like we’re better together than apart, if that makes sense. We kind of make each other whole and we…” Her words disintegrate as the realisation of his extraordinarily astute question dawns.  
She starts to rub the top of his arm softly. “I’m so sorry.”  
“So you should be able to see that I love ya because you’re Mae. That means a whole bunch of things, it’s not just the way you look or for your body. I love you. If you’re worried about these things, I want you to tell me, to ask me. Not just bury it away and let it eat away at you.”  
“I feel really bad about that, Finn. I mean, we’ve been spent so long discussing how important it is for us to talk and I go and do something like that.”  
“Mae.” He reaches over, blindly casting around for her hand, which she quickly delivers into his. It may be the briefest of squeezes but it’s enough.  
He hears the bag rustle again, before Primal Scream starts to float through the air. A couple of tracks and a smoke later, Finn relaxes into the way his girlfriend somewhat distractingly strokes his arm. But he’s not going to ask her to stop. Instead, he tries to lean in to her touch.  
Her hand moves to his thigh and runs up and down it lightly. “Can I?”  
He snorts. “I am driving, you know. But yeah, feels nice.”  
“Just nice?”   
“Mae.” He warns as her hand reaches a little higher but then quickly retreats to his knee.  
“You know…” Rae begins. “There’s this thing that just happens when we kiss. It’s like my brain can’t think anymore… I can’t process anythin’. It’s a sort of magic.” She giggles.  
He may be staring straight forward, but Finn’s eyebrows shoot up. When nothing further is forthcoming he can’t help but utter “You… you were saying, girl?”  
Rae tears off another piece of the bun and pops it into his slightly open mouth with her fingers. She allows them to linger and he sucks the sugary icing off.  
A grin forms on his face as he catches her eating another piece of the bun, before she feeds him again.  
“Taste good?” He asks.  
“It’s a darn good bun, this one. Just the right amount of icing and raisins. Do you want the cherry?”   
Her innocent sounding question becomes loaded through the tone of her voice and Finn splutters.  
“I’ll take that as a yes, then.” This time he playfully nips at her fingers.  
“Do you like the taste of my fingers, Finley?”  
“Well… uh they’re ok, but I far prefer the taste of you, Mae.”   
He shifts again in his seat, as Rae gasps at his words, momentarily losing her composure.   
Her attempt at gaining the upper hand is a little clumsy, possibly a little obvious.  
“Have you got a stiffy again?”  
Finn’s mouth opens a couple of times. Then he swallows and licks his lips, his eyes remaining firmly on the road. “I… uh…”   
He’s still thinking about his response when he feels Rae’s hand finding out for herself.   
“Bloody hell.” His tone is a mixture of pure lust tinged with irritability.  
Somewhat perfunctorily, he removes her hand and she makes a disappointed noise.  
“We… it’s been nearly a week, Rae. “ He stumbles through the short sentence. “And… and your wakeup call… well… I can’t help that you… That I…” He exhales at length. “Fuck’s sake, you know full well I’ve been hard for nearly the whole day. You… you keep teasing me. And as soon as it starts to… well it…” He sighs.  
“Oh, well I’m sure we’ll make good use of it later.” She replies, her hand sweeping across his crotch.  
“Rae.” He warns. And then he thinks he has a way of gaining the upper hand.  
He runs his tongue over his top teeth. “So girl, if I weren’t driving right now, I’d be kissing you. Slowly mind. Just toying with your bottom lip. And then I think I’d kiss your neck until your body presses into mine and I know you’re relaxing into it. I’d kiss you again, but this time I might suck at your bottom lip and I might just slip my tongue into your mouth.”  
The change in Rae’s breathing tells him he’s on the right track, so more confidently, he continues. “I think my hand would end up in your hair and I’d kiss and bite down your neck towards your shoulder… but you know what my right hand’s like, Mae. It has a bit of a mind of its own. I reckon it would slide its way round from your back to your chest. So that while I’m kissing you, it would be teasing your nipple in that way that makes you wiggle against me.”  
“At some point, my other hand would slip down to your bottom and tilt you into me. You know how much you enjoy it when we get the angle right and you can slide up and down me. It always makes your eyes flutter shut and these…” He swallows thickly. “These soft noises escape your lips. They just want to make me kiss you more, kiss you harder. But it’s starting to get messier now. I’d be pretty hot so I’d have to take my shirt off pretty quickly. And I’d want to take yours off to even things up a little.”  
He bites his lip hard at the vision unfolding in his mind reminding himself that he is driving.  
“But I’d take my time, removing your shirt. I love tracing patterns in your skin from one collarbone to the other and running my fingers down to your chest and dipping them under your top until you’re asking me to touch your breasts. I love it when you ask, Mae. It really turns me on.”   
He is forced to concentrate on the road as the traffic suddenly gets busier, but Rae is wrapped in her own little world wishing they didn’t have another 30 miles to go.   
“You were saying…” Her voice is replete with needy desire.  
“I… uh… well… I’d hope we were sitting down or something. Because after I’ve taken your shirt off I’d want to run my hands over your skin. And you know that I can’t resist the feeling of my skin on yours, so I’d have to take me own top off. And I’d probably sort of lie on top of you… and… I’d start kissing you again. As my hands run all over your skin, my hips would uh… roll into yours and… you know what you’d be feeling.”   
He’s not so surprised this time to find her hand resting softly over the taught material of his jeans. But it’s a distraction nevertheless and he growls her name in objection.  
“I want to hear more of your story.” She cajoles.  
“Oh right.” He pauses, not sure how much further he dare go and in desperate need of safe ground. “So uh… I’d remember that I hadn’t put any music on and so I’d go over to the shelves and umm… pick out something like… like Marley.” He grins. “Nothing like crap reggae for shagging.”  
“Once I get the music sorted. Maybe I’d want to dance with you a bit, press myself into you a bit, make you really feel me… or maybe I’d just get down to things.” His lips sink unsteadily into his bottom lip.  
“I… I’d have to pull your leggings off.” He pushes some hair out of his eyes. “Fuck knows why you insist on wearing them all the time, they really slow me down.” He confesses. “But once they’re off I know I can have some real fun. I could slide your knickers off, down your long legs. Then I could put my mouth where you really like it to be. I’d take it really slowly, mind, kissing up your thighs and down your lower stomach but just avoiding where I know you really want me to be. You know how I like to use my tongue, in long sweeping strokes, nothing too direct because I like to take my time. It would be really light at first with as little pressure as possible and then I might just use my fingers to part your uh… your lips and just swirl my tongue around inside and…”  
He breaks off, catching movement in his peripheral vision. Turning his head, he finds that although Rae may be staring straight ahead, not only is her shirt unbuttoned, her leggings are missing. Slightly confused, he tries to concentrate on the road as he frowns forcefully.  
“Rather hot in here isn’t it, Finley? Perhaps we should turn down the heating.” Rae adjusts the knob.  
Mentally, Finn readjusts himself to this new challenge, taking a couple of quiet minutes to regulate his escalating heart rate through slow controlled breaths.  
“So… where was I? Ah yeah, I’m really enjoying the taste of you. So, then I’d begin to tease you with flicking my tongue over your… your clit, just every now and again. Can’t have you getting too excited too soon, girl. And I might just use a finger, you know to test how wet you are… I like to slide it in out as slowly as I possibly can. Then when you’re feeling just right, I’d like to push it up a little further inside and find that spot right at the front, which…”  
Her moan catches him off guard and he glances over again.  
“Jesus fucking Christ.” He exhales and, despite the fact he’s at the wheel, he slams a hand down on his groin.  
Looking over again, in case his eyes were deceiving him, a series of stuttered “fucks” escape his mouth. He might not be able to see much, but her hand is most definitely under her skirt. As the realisation that this is no dream hits him, he has to palm himself again.  
With considerable effort his gravelly voice finally comes to life. “I’m going to have to ask ya to stop that. It’s not that I mind… but you see I’m driving and I… uhhh… I think I uhhh…”  
“Finn. Is this a problem?”  
“I… holy fuck, Rae. You have to stop.” His entire tone is comprised of a frantic urgency. “I… I might cum in me pants.”  
“Oh.” She pauses and a smile grows on her face. “Oh, I see.”  
After a couple of minutes of silence, she changes the CD.  
“Portishead?” He pulls a face. “You… you’re impossible.”   
He feels her hand in his shirt pocket, and is shocked to hear the click of his lighter.  
“Here, have a cigarette. It’ll calm you down.”  
He accepts and opens the window. Not another word is uttered for the duration of the journey.

When Finn finally pulls onto their driveway, he switches the engine off and sits motionless in silence, his hands on the steering wheel for some minutes. He’s breathing is becoming ever heavier and shorter.  
Rae sits and stares in fascinated silence until he finally speaks. “Get out of the car, Mae.”  
Her mouth drops open, but she unquestioning does as requested and follows him to the front door. He fumbles with the keys and curses repeatedly under his breath. The final moment of uncertainty is when he holds the door open for her. As soon as she’s safely across the threshold, he slams the door shut behind him with unnecessary force.  
Almost instantly he has her pushed against the wall, his lips on her neck, his right hand on her bust. There’s nothing gentle about his kiss; it’s scalding fervour and want. His body presses very hard into hers and a keening noise emanates from her throat.   
When they kiss, he pushes his tongue into her mouth straight away, his hand travelling under her skirt and up to her knickers, which are already damp. He groans appreciatively and picks up her leg, placing it around his waist. He grinds himself against her with an almost alarming speed as his hand tangles in her hair and he continues his messy kiss. Her hands slip between them and fumble with his belt. When her hand closes around him, he growls and pulls her bra down, sinking his teeth into her nipple. She makes a slightly shocked noise and instantly, he pulls back.  
He runs a hand tenderly down her face and tucks some hair behind her ear.  
“Too much?”   
She shakes her head vehemently. “Just a surprise.” She slaps his bottom firmly, delighting in the expression it evokes on his face.  
“So you want to play?”   
She blushes, bites her lips and nods. His eyes are still lingering on hers, when she steps forward and sinks her teeth carefully into his neck. “You know damn well I do”.  
“You… you’re a fucking minx.” He runs his hand through her hair. “You promise to tell me… if you… if it’s too much?”   
Although she nods, his eyes seek out further reassurance. She slides her hand up his shirt and rakes her nails down the muscles of his back.   
His hand tangles roughly in her hair; he pulls her head back against the wall and sucks at her neck, before looking up again. Pulling her hair, he ensures he has eye contact. “You sure?”   
“Fuck me.”  
He kisses her almost furiously, one hand ripping down her second bra strap. She’s moaning into his mouth, when he pushes his jeans and boxers down to mid-thigh in a single movement. Reaching up her skirt, he pushes her knickers to one side and slides himself straight in.   
She gasps and then starts to bite at his skin. But this doesn’t last long, as his pace quickens beyond anything she’s ever known. It’s absolutely merciless and unrelenting. She clings on with her arms loosely around his neck. When he picks her leg up again, he slows to try a number of different angles until loud breathy noises escape her lips. His pace increases again, but this time, he slams his whole body against hers in a series of brutal thrusts. Her nails catch in his shoulders as she spurs him on.  
She’s wondering how much longer she will be able to stay on her feet, when his hands drops to her hips. He slows his movement into long, deep, powerful thrusts. He’s hitting a spot inside her that causes a sound she doesn’t recognise as her own to escape from her mouth. Her eyes are shut and she throws her hands above her head. His hands pin her arms to the wall and he continues his rhythm but intermittently kisses her neck or shoulders.   
She’s on the verge of spiralling into a climax when his eyes widen in shock and he takes a dramatic step back, staring down at his own body.   
“Oh shit.” He exclaims. “Fuck.” He breathes out. “I’m really sorry.”  
“Finn?”   
His focus does not alter.  
“Finn?” Her tone more urgent.  
“I…god I’m sorry, Mae. I forgot to put a johnny on.”  
She laughs.   
“Do you need me to the honours?”   
“I’ve got one in my wallet.” His sheepish look deserves her challenging eyebrow raise.  
“I… uh…With you… I kind of thought I’d always better be prepared. I never know when you might feel in the mood, so…”  
She snickers a little and then playfully slaps him on the arm. He’s still standing there, jeans around his thighs, so she takes charge and catches him off guard by using her mouth and not her hands.  
“If my memory serves me right, you said something about Bob Marley earlier.”  
He blinks a few times, frowns, opens his mouth and then swallows. Forgetting his state of half-dress, he finds the walk to the record player, restricted and uncomfortable. So he kicks his boots off and then his jeans, using his feet as levers. Frustrated, he bends over and rips them off over the last few inches, such that they are left lying inside out in a dishevelled heap on the floor.  
Music on and feet freed, he makes a hasty return to his girl and lifts her up, burying his head between her breasts until he deposits her a little roughly on the sofa.   
As he lays on top of her, Rae looks into his blown pupils and licks her bottom lip. He’s pushing her skirt up around her waist and parting her legs with his body. She cards her hands in his hair and pushes his head down.  
“I think you’re forgetting something, Finley.”  
His mouth is almost instantly where she has been aspiring it to be since his confession in the car. She throws her arms above her head and surrenders to the divine tightening he elicits. It’s even better than she imagined as he throws her legs over his shoulders and devotes himself entirely to the task.  
When she opens her eyes once more, she coughs, her throat a little dry from the noise she was barely aware she had been making.  
“More, girl?” He asks with a satisfied grin on his face.  
A shake of the head and a hoarse, “I want to feel you,” is all it takes for him to press heavily upon her and slip in once more. His energetic and enthusiastic start simply accelerates into a blistering unrelenting rhythm that leaves her breathless. The guttural noises coming from his mouth tell her it’s going to be over all too soon. But then he stops, and rolls them carefully onto the floor.  
She chooses a sitting position, knowing just how much he likes this, and they recommence. Hands in her own hair and head thrown back, she feels the fireworks start exploding in her again. His hips never cease pushing upwards indefatigably, his hands gripping her hips. As her high begins to dissipate, she senses a tautness in his body that wasn’t there before.   
He pauses, takes a couple of shuddering breaths, and flips them over. Holding himself up on his arms, his cadence changes, allowing him to pull right back each time.  It’s all instinct and fire.  
Rae runs her hands up and down the smooth skin of his arms, yet she is quite incapable of tracing the patterns that she admires so much as she slips into a nebulous world where only rapture and sensation remain.  
It’s not long before he’s changed position once more. And so it continues, the tension ever building but never quite released. At some point, Rae’s opens her eyes to find Finn underneath her, eyes shut, brows knitted, hair clumped together with perspiration, lips parted emitting short, stuttery grunts.   
She’s on her back when he pins her hands above her head and his movements slow into syncopated clusters. There’s one final hesitation, then he arches his whole upper body backwards and almost screams a prolonged cry. When he collapses onto her, the weight of his spent body is soon too much, such that she has to gently roll him off onto his back.  
He lies sprawled out, his whole body heaving with the effort to circulate enough oxygen to his exhausted limbs. It takes him an abnormally long time to pull her to him, positioning her head on his chest where he loves her to be. His fingers stroke her hair as they revel in the stillness, eyes closing but hearts still pounding.  
She’s first to stir, rising unsteadily to her feet, ambling haphazardly across the room to change the LP to Massive Attack’s Blue Lines. She pulls the throw off the sofa and settles back down, with her head in the crock of his neck.  
He drops a succession of tender kisses in her hair. “I… I love you.” His voice is warm and self-assured.  
She giggles. “Even though you are disgustingly sweaty, Finn Nelson, I love you too.”  
He would make some pretend narky comeback, weren’t his mental and physical faculties so depleted. Instead he has to make do with a drowsy smirk which settles into a lazy contented smile.  
Although he’s dozing by the time the needle comes to the middle of the vinyl, Rae has recovered sufficiently to look at her watch.  
“Oh shit.” She exclaims loudly.  
He makes a sleepy, disgruntled noise.  
“Finn.” She shakes his arm. “It’s 6pm.”  
“Fuck.” He drawls and throws his arm over his face. “No. It can’t be.”  
“I’ll run you a bath.” Her tone soft and mollifying.

Having discarded his drenched t-shirt downstairs, Finn could only be persuaded to get into the floral scented bubbles by Rae accompanying him. Radiohead is blaring from the stereo located in the music room (next to bathroom) as he carefully washes her hair and sponges down her body whilst humming along to the familiar tune.  
Despite the awkwardness of the manoeuvre in the tight space of the bath, Finn, climbs over his girl and gives her rare permission to return the favour in kind.   
Her ministrations are utilitarian, without fuss, yet underpinned with great affection. When his clean head comes to rest on her chest, she fathoms how weary he is and indulges in the simple act of holding him. The creases near his eyes loosen in this all too fleeting moment of tranquillity in their hectic lives.  
Unlike Rae, Finn can only tolerate a steaming hot bath, so he only stays until the water is warm and not tepid. He towels himself down roughly, and unashamedly stands nude next to the bath.  
“So, what next?” She asks, eyebrows raised.  
He splutters. “I… uh… well,” he bites his lip and stares at the floor, frowning seriously.  
“Good God. You’re always thinking about sex.”  
“Piss off.” His face creases into a smile.  
“Come on, admit it. You thought I was after round two. I never knew a trip to Ikea could end like that though. We’ll have to go more often.”  
The momentarily relief on his face is replaced by a horrified scowl.  
“Oh god… I’ll shag you like that any day of the bloody week but please, can we hold back on the shopping expeditions.”  
Her laughter echoes around the small room, bouncing off the tiled walls.  
Wrapping the towel neatly around his waist, he sighs deeply.  
“I’ll unload the car and cook tea, so you can work on your essay, yeah? I’ll change the sheets and then I’ll build the wretched cabinet thingy later.” With that, he turns and starts to walk away.  
“What about your assignment?”  
“I’ll work on it later when you’re asleep.”  
“No.”  
He’s half way out of the door when he turns back.  
“Do… shall I get started on the cabinet now and tea later?”  
The high having dissipated, Rae explores his appearance properly. The rings under his eyes are even more bruised than in the morning and the week’s worth of stubble verges on making him look haggard. More worrying is the way he can’t disguise the tremors running through his jaded body.  
Emotion threatens to congest her voice, but she eventually manages to shape her thoughts.  
“You are going to bed to get some sleep, and if not sleep, you can rest. I’ll unload the car, order take-away and wake you up when it arrives.”  
“That cabinet’s heavy. I’ll get it out of the car.” He shrugs. “Take away sounds good though.”  
She’s out of the bath before he can blink, her hand closing around his forearm.  
“Let’s just leave the cabinet in the car tonight. I’ll get our overnight bags out. Do you feel like pizza or Chinese food?”  
“Noodles would be good.” His smile is worn.  
“Well off to bed with you then.” She commands unequivocally, both hands on her hips.

Having retrieved both their bags, the blue IKEA sacks and Finn’s artwork from the car, Rae closes the front door. She carries the overnight bags through to the kitchen and sorts out the dirty laundry, discovering that Finn appears to have worn the same shirt for the duration of his three day stay in London. Seeking out the clothes they hastily discarded earlier, she pops them into the machine and loads it with powder.  
It takes her quite some time to order the living room and kitchen, which were left in something of a state of disarray when she rushed off to college at the crack of dawn the previous morning. There are books open everywhere, half written pages of notes, some of Finn’s paints, naked LP’s out of their sleeves, dishes in the sink and on the oven, not to mention the mess they had made an hour earlier.   
Sorting through the wodge of menus behind the pig shaped cookie jar, she finally locates the one she’s after. She loves reading the menus. It’s not just about the food that makes her mouth water; it’s also about the dishes they will never order. She loves to imagine who might order the food they find too bland or too spicy, the banquet for one or the family meal. She walks through to the hall to use the phone but before she dials, she hears footsteps coming down the stairs.  
Finn is standing barefoot and yawning profusely, in tatty old marl sweats at the bottom of the stairs, his fluffy hair standing at incongruous angles. More disconcerting is the way he’s shivering with his full body.  
“I thought I told you to rest?”  
“I couldn’t sleep.” He replies, eyes bleary and unfocussed.  
“Finn.” She places a hand carefully on his arm.  
“I… I just need a smoke.”  
“Shall I get the food as quickly as they can cook it?” She asks, surmising that he’s not going to do as bidden.  
He nods, attempting a smile.   
“Anything you fancy in particular?”  
“Nah, you choose.” With that he meanders towards the back door, rubbing his lower back. But then he turns and walks back, taking her hands in his. Eyes cast low, due the weight of her previous confession, he sways from side to side.  
“You….you know I said in the car that I weren’t sleepin’ that well. It’s a bit more than me finding it hard without you next to me.”  Repeatedly, he nugatorily tries to swallow the hard dry mass that seems to have formed in his throat.  
Her thumb solely rubs his palm, as she patiently stands without expectation.  
“It’s just tha’…I’ve been having the odd nightmare again.”   
There’s no retribution, no disappointment and no words. Rae takes him tacitly into a deep embrace, where his head nestles on her shoulder. She strokes his back and rocks them back and forth until his fingers finally loosen their grasp on the fabric crumpled within. She leads him to the sofa, and selects Mazzy Star, before allowing him to drift off in her arms.   
After a couple of hours, Rae’s glad she ordered five main take-away dishes as Finn had woken famished, voraciously devouring three of them, washed down with half a pot of tea. However, he hasn’t perked up much and is sitting, staring ahead with slightly glassy eyes. Her head is in his lap, and they are notionally watching TV, though she’s not convinced that Finn has taken in a single word in the detective drama she has been enjoying.  
“Why don’t you go upstairs? Have an early night.”  
He seems to be ignoring her.  
“Finn?”  
She extricates herself from his hold, stands and extends her hand. “You didn’t think I meant on your own, did you?”  
He looks bewildered.  
“But, but your work.”  
She shakes her head. “There’ll be time for that tomorrow, Finn. I’ve still got a lot of reading to get through. Bed’s a good a place as any.”  
The doors are bolted on the way upstairs. She doesn’t bother to change the murky sheets for the fresh grey ones, sitting in the bag downstairs.   
For once, music is conspicuous by its absence, as Finn plumps his pillows and crawls under the duvet. He watches groggily from under heavy lidded eyes, as Rae changes into a pair of brushed cotton pyjamas. His eyes eventually close once she is lying beside him in the bed. Feeling her stretching into a comfortable position, he infers she’s got a book in her hands.  
“What you reading today?” His voice is a near whisper.  
“It’s a book called Possession by a modern writer called AS Byatt. It’s not the sort of thing I’d teach, certainly not on a syllabus anywhere, but it’s wonderful food for thought.”   
Passion flows through her words and he knows the spark will be burning in her eyes once more. Rolling onto his side, he throws and arm around her waist and settles into his pillow.  
“Tell me what it’s about.”   
If Rae thinks the request somewhat uncommon, it’s masked by her boundless enthusiasm as she launches into her synopsis of a novel, which she has re-read more than once already.  
“It’s kind of a detective story with two competing literary critics. They discover a long forgotten love affair between the two Victorian writers, which the pair have dedicated their lives to studying. It involves them spending a lot of time in libraries and looking through dusty letters, that sort of thing. What’s interesting is their research takes them both out of their lonely existences. It’s like the journey changes them as people too.”  
Glancing over, Finn’s fingers are brushing his cheek, but are thankfully not in his mouth, and his chest is rising and falling slowly; he’s fallen almost instantly into a deep sleep, as she knew he would. Ever so carefully, she strokes his stubbled cheek and kisses it with unfettered affection. Tempting though it is to get up and make some headway on her paper, for once, she takes a leaf out of her own book and remains in the snug warmth of her bed, with the man who has become so much more than simply a boyfriend. 

Tomorrow will no doubt be another hectic and jam packed day, trying to catch up on the things they should have done during the week, boring but necessary chores and college work. But tonight, she can just be, content in the knowledge that he will sleep well.  
She flies through a few more pages of the treasured book, but then feels Finn twitch and wriggle, his fingers grasping at her pyjamas. Once more, she feels the pain of their weekly separation insidiously rising within. Tossing her book to the floor, she reaches over and switches off the light, causing him to stir slightly. Carefully, she positions herself back where she belongs; in his arms and smiles to herself at the tensing and flexing of his fingers around her waist as he nuzzles her neck. Slumber’s long arms come to carry her off.


End file.
